The Cowboy's Forever Family (13 page)

It was one thing to be rid of his youthful foolishness, those character traits that had put him into a long string of difficulties of his own making. He had given little thought to the women he'd dated, making the best use of his charm and then walking away.

Now the tables were turned and he didn't like it one bit. Laney had turned him into a rambling idiot, made considerably worse by the meaningful smile she flashed him. She knew exactly what she was doing to his senses, and she clearly liked the power it gave her over him. She could lead him by the nose and he'd follow her anywhere.

“I'm perfectly aware of who threw my name into the hat, Prince Charming. Thanks a lot, by the way. I'm going to look like a moose out there on that truck. It would have been far better to leave the princessing to a young woman who could actually ride a horse.”

“You,” he disagreed, tapping the end of her nose, “will be absolutely beautiful out there. There's not a woman in Texas who could hope to hold a candle to you.”

She actually appeared a little insecure at his heartfelt declaration, and suddenly he very much wanted to prove to her just how special she was. He'd gotten her into this situation in the first place, so it seemed only right that—

His thoughts vanished as he looked down at her and realized she'd tipped her chin upward and was standing very...very...close.

Waiting to be kissed?

He didn't know exactly how long he'd been waiting for this moment, but now he realized it was a lengthy time in coming. There had been so many barriers. Brody. The baby. The fact that she couldn't stand the sight of him when they'd first met. His own harsh feelings toward her. The way they'd tussled with each other.

Somehow, all of that had led up to this moment. Everything except Laney faded into the mist before him. Just him and this beautiful woman.

Just the two of them.

“Laney,” he murmured huskily, running his fingers from her jaw to her chin, his thumbs brushing the soft stretch of skin on her cheekbones. “Princess. Look at me.”

He wanted her to see who she was kissing, wanted her to know whose heart would never be the same after this moment.

When she looked at him, he knew beyond a doubt what she was seeing. She was seeing
him
, with all his vulnerabilities exposed, his strengths and weaknesses and mistakes and pain bared for her.

And love.

Her gaze reflected his, and as he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers, he could only thank God for giving him the opportunity to make his world right.

The taste of her lips, the peach flavor of her lip gloss, tugged his thoughts further from him, replacing them with all the emotions that up until now he'd been suppressing, not allowing himself to feel.

He slanted his head to deepen the kiss, then removed his hat and tossed it onto the dirt at his feet without a second thought, except that he needed to be as close to this woman as was humanly possible.

From now on he wouldn't let any barriers—physical or emotional—get in their way.

* * *

For as large and muscular a man as Slade was, his embrace was incredibly gentle. His touch was soft and his kiss was tender, both giving and taking, seeking the meaning of the moment and giving it.

This wasn't some young man taking what he wanted and leaving nothing in return. Slade was offering her his all.

And oh, how much she wanted to give him. So much she didn't know how to express—the way he'd stolen into her life as stealthily as a thief, not carrying off her heart but joining it to his.

Slade didn't try to push his advantage, though she knew full well that was how he would have acted in the past. Rather, he let her set the pace, letting her taste the depth of his emotion, only to draw back and make her chase for it.

She ran her hands down his powerful shoulders. Her fingers lingered over the strength and definition of his biceps. His arms quivered beneath her touch, and she wondered how difficult it was for him to rein in his emotions.

She knew how
she
felt—like a princess, glimmering and sparkling and galloping across an open field with the sun shining down on her.

She cupped his face in her hands, reveling in the scent of leather, the scratchy texture of his whiskers against her palms, the firm strength of his jaw and the myriad of feelings tumbling through her. Some were emotions she'd never thought to feel again, and others were brand-new to her.

He kissed her forehead and her cheeks and then bent his head, holding her close. His breath was heavy and he was shaking—or maybe she was the one quivering.

“Slade,” she murmured, desperate to put words to the emotions she was experiencing. She stretched her consciousness to wrap her thoughts around the sounds in her mind but all she could seem to find was his name.

He murmured a guttural response that was not quite a word. It gave her a certain sense of satisfaction that their kiss had apparently left the same mark on Slade as it had on her, that he was as tongue-tied as she felt.

“Princess.” He had more success with his words this time and he tightened his embrace around her.

Laney smiled into his chest, finally ready to hear what he had to tell her, how he felt about her. And then she could share all the beautiful emotions she felt for him. The future stretched before them, but they were no longer alone. They would figure it out between the two of them—the
three
of them.

“I pulled Night Terror.” His words came out in an abrasive rush, pelting her with their sharp edges.

She gasped and pulled away from him. She'd opened herself up to him, exposed her very heart to him, and he'd been doing—what?

Buttering her up so his news would slide down easier? Catching her on the easy side of what could arguably be one of the worst days of her life? The calm before the storm?

How
dare
he?

She chose anger over showing how hurt she felt, because anger kept her going while the pain she was experiencing might well cripple her.

He winced and ran a palm back over his hair, then reached for his hat, tapping the dust off of it before planting it firmly on his head, adjusting the brim low over electric blue eyes that were sparking fire.

“Why didn't you tell me?” she managed to choke out.

“I'm telling you now. I just found out a little while ago.”

“But you thought it was perfectly acceptable to sneak in a kiss before laying that bolt from the blue on me, huh?

“Sneak? I wasn't—”

“I don't want to hear it, Slade.” She didn't want to hear anything that passed through his deceitful lips. Her heart was ripping, one agonizing piece after another, and not only because he'd played her for a fool, stringing her along like the rest of his buckle bunnies.

No, it was because she was so incredibly angry with herself. She had completely fallen for his well-chorded tune, believed he was a changed man, one who could be depended on when the going got tough.

Someone she could fall in love with.

His jaw tightened and his gaze narrowed on her.

“Princess?” She found it ironic that his voice appeared laced with concern. He reached for her elbows as if to steady her.

She flinched inwardly, though outwardly she remained steady and unmoving. Her first impulse was to jerk her arms from his touch, which was gentle yet firm enough to keep her stable and upright. She resisted the compulsion and chose to stare him down instead. He could only hurt her if she let him, and she was too strong to let that happen.

When she got back home at the Becketts' ranch, locked securely in her own room, then she had no doubt she'd break down. But she'd hold herself together until then. She'd faced worse circumstances than the hulking cowboy looming over her with a semblance of worry lining his features.

Fool me once...

“You are as white as a sheet,” he said, tilting his head to better meet her gaze. “You aren't going to pass out on me now, are you, princess?”

“Of course not,” she snapped back. “And don't call me princess.”

He pressed his lips together and shifted his gaze over her left shoulder.

“Um, excuse me” came a heavily accented Texan's voice from where Slade was looking. She glanced back to find Ian James, standing with his hat in his hands and shifting from one booted foot to another. His gaze was apologetic but his lips were quirking with amusement.

Great. Just great. Now she'd been caught behind the bleachers with a man whose reputation had to be as tarnished as old silver. To the uninformed observer, she and Slade would definitely appear to be in a compromising position.

She jerked out of Slade's grasp and turned to Ian. She tipped her chin and raised her brows, offering what she hoped was a confident smile.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Slade, the rodeo's about to start and the guys were wondering where you'd gotten off to.”

“I'll be right there, Cap,” Slade assured the man.

Ian nodded and briskly headed in the opposite direction without looking back. Laney had the impression he was trying to give them one last moment of privacy to finish what he probably took for a romantic interlude. How wrong could a man be? Other than the very great desire to wring his neck, Laney wanted nothing to do with Slade McKenna.

There was nothing left to say between them, and the sooner she got out of here and back to her seat, the better off she would be.

Yet no matter how angry she was with Slade, she couldn't put her worry aside over the danger he was about to face. Regardless of what had transpired between them or how negatively she viewed him now, she wasn't positive she could watch him ride Night Terror. The very thought made her stomach queasy.

She'd deal with it. She would
deal
. What other choice did she have?

“Laney—” Slade's hand snaked out to grab hers.

“We have nothing left to say to one another,” she informed him without turning.

Rather than use his greater strength to turn her toward him, he slipped around her so they were face-to-face.

“Say the word,” he said, his tone as sober as if he were taking a vow.

“Say
what
?”

“If you don't want me to ride Night Terror, I'll walk away from it.”

Was he serious? He'd willingly give up something he'd been working on, maybe even dreamed about, ever since his best friend's death?

For her?

Part of her wanted to rail at him, tell him she didn't care one way or another whether he rode the stupid bull or not. Another part of her, the part ruled by a deep-seated longing for him that wouldn't go away, by emotions that confirmed that she harbored feelings that she didn't want to address, wanted to beg him to hang up his hat without riding.

But then his gaze met hers—those amazing, expressive blue eyes—and she saw that they were filled with longing. Pain. Compassion. And most of all, determination.

Suddenly she knew he would indeed walk away from his ride if she asked him to do it, and with just as much certainty, she realized she could not ask him to do so.

She had Brody's baby to honor Brody's life, cut short before he even knew he was going to be a father.

Slade only had this ride, this tribute to his friend, to the sport that had been such an important part of Brody's life.

For all Slade's faults, he had loved Brody and deserved this chance to honor his friend in the way he saw fit. She couldn't ask him to walk away from this now.

“No,” she said before she lost her nerve.

“No, you don't want me to ride?” Disappointment flashed over his features but he quickly schooled them.

She shook her head. “No, I don't want you to give up your ride because of me. Go ride Night Terror, Slade. You give that bull the what-for. Do it for Brody.”

Slade adjusted the crown of his hat and jerked his chin to acknowledge her words. “For Brody.”

He strode off without another glance in her direction. Maybe he thought she might change her mind if he looked back. Her throat closed around her hammering heart as she watched him turn the corner of the bleachers and disappear out of sight.

“Please, God, keep him safe.”

Because she loved him.

It didn't matter what he'd done, or if he'd played fast and loose with her emotions. It didn't matter if his attention wandered elsewhere the moment his eight seconds were past, or even if he'd ever really cared for her at all.

The only thing that mattered right now was that he stayed safe. She would deal with what was or wasn't between them later.

The crowd had grown considerably and it was harder for her to make her way up the bleachers, but folks were very accommodating to her bulky, awkward frame, scooting out of the way to give her better footing. Many of the men even offered her a steadying hand on her way up to her seat between Carol and Jo.

“We were starting to wonder if Slade had carried you off,” Carol teased.

Heat fused to Laney's cheekbones and it was all she could do to keep her face from crumpling.

“Oh, no,” Jo said, tsking and shaking her head. “What is it, dear? You look terrible. Is it the baby?”

Laney shook her head and concentrated on calming her roiling stomach by focusing on Jo's self-made T-shirt. Love Me Some Texas Cowboys.

Yeah, not so much. Laney would prefer almost anything
but
that. As if she had any choice in the matter. The heart loved what the heart loved with no mind to what made any sense.

“The baby is fine,” she managed to say. “It's Slade.”

Grant and Frank leaned forward to join in the conversation.

“What about Slade?” Grant asked with a reassuring smile.

“He pulled Night Terror. I think that's what he wanted. He'd riding Brody's bull.”

“Oh, my,” Carol breathed, her face paling.

Instantly filled with remorse over the abrupt way she'd spilled the information about someone she knew the Becketts viewed as a second son, Laney reached for Carol's hands. “I'm so sorry. I was only thinking of myself. I can't imagine—” Tears sprang to her eyes and her sentence faded to silence.